Through Gilded Eyes
by LiveFastDieBeautiful21
Summary: Sulira has shirked her responsibility as Dragonborn, choosing instead to focus on her job as arch-mage. But when an errant experiment sends the high elf to Kirkwall, she's thrown into a world of impoverished elves and imprisoned mages. How far will Sulira go to right these wrongs, and how will Garrett Hawke respond when the consequences force him to flee with Sulira back to Skyrim?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I couldn't get all these little scenes out of my head! They just kept growing, and now this is what they've become! This chapter is pretty short, but after our Dragonborn and Champion meet, the chapters will be longer and more exciting. Unlike my other stuff, I won't be updating this _too_ regularly.

Criticism/suggestions are loved and welcomed!

* * *

**The College of Winterhold**

_Pathetic_.

Grimacing, Sulira wrapped her gloved fingers around the edge of her hood and tugged it closer, so that her snow-covered hands brushed her cheeks. She wanted to be alone, to be up in her quarters where she could continue her own research. Watching these new students try to make a presentation on the importance of wards was painstaking.

"Arch-mage?"

Sulira turned to face the timid voice. A hooded courier stood behind her. "What?"

"There's a message for you." He reached into his pack and pulled out a thin envelope. "Your visitor will be upstairs."

She slipped the envelope open, unsurprised to find it empty. That's how Eros worked. Sulira sighed. The damn thief was probably up in her arch-mage's quarters right now, surveying her books and supplies to decide which ones to steal. "Excuse me," she called haughtily, "I'm afraid I must take my leave." With one last judgmental glare at the novice mages, she spun and pushed her way through the other instructors.

As Sulira marched up the spiraling stairs, the wind outside howled and raged against the College. She shivered involuntarily; a blizzard would make it near impossible to continue with her latest project.

She had barely opened up the door to her quarters when the cool shock of an enchanted blade pressed against her exposed neck. "Eros," she sighed, reaching out to where she knew the thief was perched, "if you ever use that little knife of yours on me, I'm going to kill you."

The dagger retracted and the dark elf stepped from the shadows. "You'd be dead before you could even think about it." Eros' warm, raspy voice held a smile, but her face was hidden beneath a thick hood.

Sulira flicked her eyes over the thief. "You're still working with those scum, I see."

"I wear the uniform, don't I?"

"It means nothing."

"Alright. Stop with all the holier-than-thou shit, Sulira." Eros tugged her hood off, letting the fabric gather at the nape of her neck, and batted away the blonde strands of hair that fell into her eyes. "I came about the dragons."

The arch-mage felt a twitch of anger shoot through her. "I have other duties."

"Bullshit," Eros snapped. "You don't do anything for the College, and you know it. The Greybeards summoned you. You're the Dragonborn. _That's_ your duty." Her fingers drummed on the hilt of one of her daggers, annoyance flashing across her face. "Riften was attacked by a frost dragon. Brynjolf sent me to talk some sense into you."

"Oh?" Sulira sank into a chair, letting her folded hands rest calmly in her lap. "And where did he acquire this newfound sense of responsibility?"

The thief bristled at her words. "It doesn't have to do with responsibility. You know he's just looking for the same thing as every last damn person in Skyrim."

"And what's that?"

"For the Dragonborn to answer her call."

"I _am _answering my call," Sulira scoffed. "Here, I'll show you." She dug around in the little pack at her waist, searching for the key to the College roof. Her project had been kept a careful secret, but she was almost finished; besides, while Sulira didn't consider herself to have any friends, Eros was the closest thing she'd ever had. Before she headed up to the roof, Sulira grabbed the staff that was propped against the door. "Back before I was the arch-mage," she shouted, her voice barely audible over the howling wind, "the College had acquired an… artifact called the Eye of Magnus."

"I've heard the stories," Eros shouted in response. "What does that have to do with dragons?"

Sulira ignored the question. Her research, in fact, had nothing to do with the dragons, but she wasn't about to admit that to Eros. "According to the Psijic Order, the Staff of Magnus can absorb the tremendous amount of power that the Eye contains. That's how we averted the crisis in the first place." She held up the staff in one hand and used the other to shield her eyes from the snow. "I wanted to recreate the Eye. I've been using the power stored in the staff and combining it with every piece of research done on the Eye to make a replica."

"But what about the dragons?"

"When I'm finished with this, the College will have so much power, you won't have to worry about dragons for a _long_ time."

* * *

**The Hawke Estate**

"Mother?"

"I'm in the study, darling."

Garrett Hawke took a deep breath and clutched Isabela's hand firmly in his own. "Come on," he whispered, tugging her into the front room.

"I don't know why you insist on doing this," the pirate seethed into his ear.

"You're the one who told me I was rude for not introducing anyone to my mother," he shot back.

"But why me? Why not Anders?"

"You're nervous," Garrett teased with a little smile, pausing before the closed study door.

Isabela tried to free her hand from him, but was unsuccessful and settled for placing her other hand on her hip. "I think you're trying to prove something. Make a point. Why else would you make _me_ meet your_ mother_?"

He forced himself to ignore the angry pout on her lips, instead pushing open the door and tugging the reluctant woman after him. "Mother, this is Isabela."

Leandra looked up from her needlework, her eyes carefully searching Garrett and Isabela. She cleared her throat and set the fabric aside. "Well, dear," she smiled, an overly joyous smile spreading over her tired face, "I can't imagine why you've waited so long to introduce us properly. Do have a seat, Isabela. Garrett, come help me bring up something to eat."

"But Orana—"

"Maker, Garrett, you'll work that poor girl to death!" Leandra's voice was still deceptively light and cheery. She motioned for her son to follow her into the cellar, where they kept extra food. Once they were safely away from the study, Leandra whirled on Garrett. "You have some explaining to do, young man."

Garrett sighed and covered his face with one of his hands, dreading the coming conversation. But before he could defend himself—and the many, many nights Isabela had already spent at the estate—Leandra was speaking again.

"I will admit, I thought you'd do better, but I won't deprive you of your happiness." Garret began to say something, but Leandra cut him off with a stern glare. "Don't think I don't know what goes on between you two. I've heard things no mother wants to hear about her son. Do you forget that my bedroom is right next to yours? Maker, child," she ended with a shaky breath. "I didn't ever think I'd be able to marry you off to a noblewoman, but couldn't you have at least chosen someone a bit more… decent? Like Aveline."

The information that she'd just thrown at Garrett made his head spin and his cheeks flush. He searched for something to say, but all he could manage was, "Mother, Aveline's married."

Leandra crossed her arms. "She wasn't always." With that, she spun and left Garrett in the cellar, wondering if he or Isabela would end up more embarrassed at the end of the night.

Groaning, he grabbed some fruit and threw it in a bowl. He decided to take a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, as well. _For me, not Isabela. No alcohol for her tonight_. As Garrett made his way back up to the study, he began to catch the two women's voices. The conversation seemed innocent enough, from what he could tell.

"Sometimes, though, I really wonder about him," Leandra was saying. "I hope he settles down and marries soon. Is it too much for a woman to ask for some grandchildren?"

Garrett nearly lost the bowl he was carrying, and he was fairly sure he had gone whiter than Aveline.

Isabela, it seemed, held her composure better than Garrett, because she greeted Leandra's words with a loud laugh, marred by an unladylike snort. "Hawke? A father? Can you imagine?"

Before they could get any more carried away, Garrett burst noisily into the study, presenting the fruit with a flourish. "Ladies," he smiled, setting the food on the table between the chairs and carrying the wine to the front room. "Orana," he called to the servant, "be a dear and pour some wine for me and my dear mother. None for Isabela."

"I heard that, Hawke."

Handing the bottle to Orana, Hawke bit back a sharp response and forced himself to admit that any embarrassment was technically his fault. Before he could rejoin the women, the front door of the estate was thrown open, revealing a shaken Circle mage.

"Bethany?" Garrett gasped, wanting to run to his sister but rooted to his spot in shock.

"You have to come," Bethany panted, stumbling forwards and steadying herself with her staff. "Darktown… the clinic. Anders."

Garrett rushed forward, grabbing his sister by the arms and holding her frail body still. "Calm down, Beth. What happened?"

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Templars," Bethany managed, still breathing heavily.

"Why? Is Anders alright?"

"Not Anders. Dragonborn."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **A bit longer chapter, this time with a little more plot. These guys only have a few more chapters in Kirkwall, then it's off to Skyrim and the real fun can start!

Also, if there's anything lore related that I screw up, pretty please let me know. I'm doing my best to be accurate!

And just to be clear: Sulira and Eros are my own characters. Nothing else is mine ^.^

* * *

**Anders' Clinic**

"No blood magic, though?"

"Not that I saw. She just… appeared."

"I see. Well, I trust you, Anders, but you might want to, umm… leave. You know how some of my men can get. And, uh, say hello to Hawke for me. It's been a while."

"Of course. Thank you, Ser Thrask."

_There it is again_. _It's—it's gone._

Sulira tried to focus on the strange magical entity that had consumed her, but her magicka had been drained by the explosion on the College roof and she could barely form a coherent thought. She had already tried opening her eyes, but the world was too bright and the light too harsh for her muddled mind, so her eyes remained closed and her cheek remained pressed against foul-smelling dirt.

A cold, hard gauntlet pressed against her arm, pulling her upright. "Mage?"

Forcing her eyes open just a sliver, Sulira stared into a pair of concerned eyes.

"Mage?" the man repeated. "Are you alright? Please, cooperate with me. I offer you a kindness that most templars won't." When she didn't respond, he pressed, "Please, mage. What's your name?"

Groaning, Sulira licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. "Sulira," she rasped. "Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold. Release me."

"Winterhold?"

If it weren't for the exhaustion that throbbed through her head, Sulira would have smacked her palm against her forehead. When her replica of the Eye of Magnus had exploded, she'd felt herself being pulled away from the mortal realm; without a doubt, she was no longer in Skyrim. "Nevermind. Where am I?"

The man seemed relieved to see her cooperating. "A clinic in Darktown, below Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?" she echoed. The name was unfamiliar to her, but it proved her suspicion; she was _far_ from Skyrim. "Take me to the College here. Or the guild. Whatever it is you have for mages."

Standing, the man offered a hand to pull her up after him. "Once the rest of my men get here, we'll be escorting you to the Circle."

Sulira nodded. There, she could speak to whoever was in charge and find her way back home. _Or,_ she mused, _I could stay a while. I'm sure a visiting arch-mage would be welcome_. She began to ask the man which province they were in, but her question was prematurely ended by the arrival of several heavily armed men. As they began to speak to the man with Sulira, she waved her hand dismissively. "This won't be necessary. I can handle myself. Just take me to the Circle."

She had barely finished when one of the men lashed out, sending an almost magical force through the air that hit Sulira like a punch in the gut. Any magicka she had left was gone in an instant. Another one of the men grabbed her arms roughly, twisting them unnaturally behind her back. She cried out in pain and one of them forced her to her knees. Her hood was ripped off, causing a ripple of shock to tremor through the men.

_That's right. I'll teach _you_ to disrespect a high elf. _

But instead of the fear or anger she was usually approached with, these men regarded her with a sudden and violent disgust. But a light, carefree voice caused the men to turn their attention from Sulira to the newcomer. "So, Thrask, who's being beaten today? A blood mage, or just another apprentice?"

"Don't joke about these things, Hawke," the first man scolded. "A friend of yours said she called herself _Dragonborn_. I'm not sure what precautions we should be taking."

The huddle of armored men gave way to reveal a nobleman, wearing a scarlet tunic and dark pants. He stroked his stubble-covered chin thoughtfully as he approached Sulira, then grinned. "Merrill is going to be so jealous."

The words meant nothing to Sulira, but apparently Thrask found some meaning in them. "You can't be serious, Hawke."

"When am I not serious?" he scoffed. "You've let mages go before. Come on, Thrask. Please?"

With a start, Sulira realized they were arguing over her fate. Here she was, a high elf, arch-mage of the College, reluctant dragonborn—and these two men were thick-headed enough to believe she wasn't going to have a say in what happened to her. "I'm not going anywhere with anyone," she stated firmly, looking Hawke in the eyes. "I wish to be taken to the Circle to speak with your arch-mage, then I'll be headed home."

Hawke crossed his arms, regarding her with curiosity. "Where did you come from?"

Sulira pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, not wanting to bother explaining. "I _will_ speak with your arch-mage."

"If Meredith catches wind of this…" Thrask trailed off ominously.

"I know, I know." With a sigh, Hawke waved the men away from Sulira. "If you go talk to Orsino, you'll never get out of the Gallows. Why don't you come back to the estate with me," he offered, "and I'll see what I can do about this whole situation?"

She stood, making a point to not rub at the pain in her arms, and eyed Hawke suspiciously. He was tall and well-built, much like a Nord, but Sulira didn't expect to have any issues; she could handle herself in a fight. What worried her was the aura of confidence that seeped from Hawke—he was a man of power, and Sulira knew what power did to a person. Ambition had driven her to her place as arch-mage, but she'd left a trail of destruction behind her. An ambitious person was not one you wanted to associate with.

Still, this was her ticket to the arch-mage of the Circle.

With a slight nod, Sulira dusted off her robes and straightened her hood. "Take me to your estate, Hawke," she instructed. "And tell me about where we are."

"Well," he began, clapping his hands together, "they call it Kirkwall, the City of Chains."

* * *

**The Ragged Flagon**

"You can't mess up another job, lass."

"Trust me, my coin purse understands." Groaning, Eros handed over the thick tome to Brynjolf. "Old habits die hard, though, don't they, Delvin?" She propped her feet up on the table, grinning at Delvin's hearty chuckle.

But Brynjolf just sighed. "You aren't doing the Guild a favor by spilling blood. Three murders so far this week," he reminded her solemnly.

Eros crossed her arms. "Come on, Brynjolf," she snorted. "The Guild's gone to shit, and you know it. I'm considering going back to the Dark Brotherhood if things don't start looking up." It wasn't until the words left her lips that she realized she'd regret them, but Brynjolf's disapproving glare sent a rare tremor of guilt through her.

"Just tell me what happened this time, lass."

_Damn it._ There was nothing that Eros hated more than having to explain why she'd botched a job. "Well, I was at the College to talk to Sulira—like you asked me to. She didn't really listen to me, but she wanted to show me something that would help with the dragon problem. We were up on the roof for a few minutes, and she was messing with some magic, and…" Eros shrugged. "There was an explosion."

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. "So, you weren't responsible for the death?"

"What? Of course I was responsible," she scoffed. "Sulira disappeared and this Khajiit came out of the tower to investigate and I killed him. Then I took the stuff from the arch-mage's quarters." Suddenly remembering all her other goodies, Eros reached into her pack and pulled out a few pieces of enchanted armor and a satchel full of alchemy reagents, spreading them across the table to show off.

"Not bad," Brynjolf admitted, "but you still don't get your cut."

Eros shrugged. "I know. It's a shame, though, because I'm going to be leaving for a bit."

"And why's that?"

"Because Sulira's an idiot, that's why." Standing, Eros grabbed the mug from Brynjolf's hands and took a long swig of his mead. "She's probably out there freezing her ass off somewhere in the wild, and saving the dragonborn's life is a hell of a lot more appealing than getting eaten by some dragon."

* * *

**Hightown**

Garrett kept his eyes trained on the strange elf as she browsed the market stalls. The longer he looked at her, the more he was confused. For an elf, she was rather tall; Sulira stood several inches above Garrett. What perplexed him most were the markings on her face, long green tendrils that ran in thick lines across her cheeks. As far as he could tell, they weren't Dalish.

"I'm ready," she barked, drawing him from his silent contemplation.

_She's got the attitude of a Dalish, though._ "Right this way," he led cheerily, pushing his curiosity aside for the moment. "Once we get to the estate, I'll see if Isabela has something else for you to wear. That's probably a lost cause, though," he mumbled to himself. "So, where are you from?" Garret asked, hoping that Sulira would finally answer instead of deflecting it with another question about Kirkwall.

Nothing.

"Alright." Hiding his annoyance, Garrett led her to the Hawke estate, holding the door open for her and closing it shut. To his surprise, quiet the little group had gathered in the front room. "Everyone, meet Sulira. Sulira, everyone."

His mother looked rather taken aback that he'd come home with yet another woman, while Isabela simply smirked. Varric and Merrill nodded polite greetings, but Anders was still shaken.

"Sulira's a mage from outside of Kirkwall," Garrett explained, mostly for Leandra's sake. "Anders, umm… found her. In his clinic. Sort of."

"A buildup of unstable magic exploded," Sulira interjected, "bringing me here from the College of Winterhold, where I serve as arch-mage. I had originally planned to leave, but the practices of your Circle are hideous, and I wish to speak to the arch-mage to right some of these errors."

At this, Anders seemed to regain some of his composure. "You would fight for the mages?"

Garrett suppressed a groan and joined Isabela on the other side of the room. "Ten silver he mentions the manifesto," he whispered.

"Ten silver he asks her to join the cause," she shot back.

"If he calls it a _plight_ you buy me a drink."

She reached out and smacked his chest. "No fair. He always calls it a plight. Now shut up so I can listen."

By then, Sulira had answered and must've said _yes_, because Anders launched into a summary of tragedies against the mages. When he finished, he'd mentioned _plight _twice, pulled six different quotes from his manifesto, and finished with an elegant request that Sulira aid him and all their fellow mages.

Sulira placed her hands on her hips. "The actions you've taken are cowardly. If any difference is to be made, it must be direct."

"_Direct_ means the templars strike harder and faster than before."

"Then strike them again, with more force than the last time. Push them until they break." Her glare kept Anders quiet, and she added, "If I were Orsino, I would kill every last templar in this city."

Varric broke the tension with a light chuckle. "Don't say that. You'll cause Aveline, Choir Boy, _and_ the elf to spontaneously combust."

Before Garrett could add a sarcastic comment of his own, Leandra held up her hands. "Why don't we head over to the dining room?" she suggested cheerily. "It can't hurt to have one more guest for dinner. Orana, darling, bring an extra plate." For the second time that evening, Leandra marched over to her son and shook a finger at him. "You'd better not get yourself wrapped up in this mage-templar mess," she scolded.

Garrett held his hands up innocently, giving his mother a wide grin. "Of course not, Mother."

From beside him, Isabela attempted to stifle a laugh with a poorly executed cough. As Leandra walked away, the pirate let a few snickers escape. "Oh, Hawke," she chuckled, "you are a terrible man, lying to your sweet mother."

He rolled his eyes. "What am I supposed to say?" he muttered under his breath. "By the way, Mother—Anders and I are conspiring to topple Meredith and the templars. Oh yes, Isabela, that would go over _splendid_."

"I'm sure it would." While the rest of the party had already moved on to the kitched, Isabela slipped closer to Garrett and whispered into his ear. "You're very good at changing minds with that _tongue_ of yours."

Shocked—not by Isabela's low, sultry voice or the thinly-veiled implications, but at the idea that his _mother_ might overhear, Garrett pulled away and gave Isabela a stern look. "No," he warned, unwilling to argue further.

"Later?"

"Yes."

Isabela chuckled, leading the way into the dining room. "You are a weak, weak man."

"Lucky," Garrett corrected, taking a seat next to Sulira and across from Anders. "I am a _lucky _man." Anders gave him a knowing smirk, but Garrett just shook his head, his eyes flickering pointedly towards Leandra. _This is why I keep you people away from my mother, _he thought wryly. _There's no way I'll be escaping this night with my pride intact, Maker help me._

* * *

**Lowtown**

"So, did you mean what you said? Earlier, at dinner?"

Sulira nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the blond mage beside her. "Your fight is a noble one," she remarked. They walked past a noisy tavern and she grimaced; clasping her hands behind her back, Sulira looked away and continued, "I have dedicated my time as arch-mage to two things. One, I seek knowledge. Two, I seek power for the College. If the College can prove that we are powerful enough, I hope that Skyrim will see us as a force to be reckoned with—a force to be allied with, not a danger to be hidden away. It seems our struggles are similar. It is a fight for justice, is it not?"

"Yes," Anders mumbled, "justice."

In the darkness of the approaching night, Sulira could just barely make out the faintest gleam of light from behind the mage's eyes. Just like when she'd first awoken in Kirkwall, she was filled with a powerful sensation, similar to the way her magicka felt, yet different. _Stronger. Raw and primal._

Clearing his throat, Anders pointed to a rundown shack to their right. "That's where Hawke lived when he first came to Kirkwall. He's done a lot for the mages, and the city loves him for it. Well," he amended, "they love him for other reasons. But they overlook his strikes against the templars."

Before Sulira could conjure up a comment to continue the inane small talk, a woman cried out weakly. Anders' staff was immediately in his hands, but Sulira merely turned in feigned interest. "You wish to help her?" she guessed.

The mage gave her an incredulous stare, blinking before answering. "Yes? I'm a healer, it's what I do. I help people."

_Damn restoration mages. _Though Sulira had always had an affinity for healing magic—though it wasn't nearly the same as her natural talent with shock spells—she'd never had the self-sacrificing mentality. With something between a sigh and a groan, Sulira followed Anders back the way they'd come, past the tavern and into another back alley.

As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, Sulira made out the shape of an injured man and a concerned woman.

"Leandra?" Anders gasped. "What are you doing out here?"

The woman brushed him aside. "This poor man needs help," she explained. "I was on my way to visit Gamlen, and I decided to help this man."

Sulira crossed her arms and gave all three of them a scornful stare. She had recognized the woman as Hawke's mother, but still felt no desire to intervene. She'd come with Anders to get a copy of his manifesto, and this was not on her list of things she wanted to do. "If you're going to help them, then help."

After checking to make sure Leandra was unharmed, Anders reached out to help the injured man. With a startled cry, the man jumped up and ran off, daring a quick glance over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

Leandra sighed. "Well, I suppose he wasn't hurt too badly. You never know at night."

"I don't think he was hurt at all," Anders muttered grimly.

"Shall we?" Sulira held up a hand, crackling and sparking with electricity. Cradling the energy between her fingers, she nodded towards where the man had run off to.

Anders hesitated. "No," he finally decided. "We don't need trouble right now. Come on, Leandra, I'll walk you home."

Shrugging, Sulira extinguished the magic and followed him back up towards Hightown. She was content to walk in silence, but Leandra interrupted the quiet night by asking why they'd been in Lowtown.

"Well, Sulira's new here," Anders explained, "so I wanted to take her down to my clinic and teach her about the mages and the Circle here in Kirkwall."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his. Sulira had caught the uneasy exchange between Hawke and his mother at dinner, and suspected Anders was doing his best to assure Leandra that there wasn't any trouble brewing.

Thankfully, they continued in silence. When they finally arrived at the estate, a young woman with disheveled red hair emerged from the front door. Sulira tensed instinctively, but Leandra greeted the woman warmly.

"Aveline! I'm so sorry you couldn't make it to dinner. We missed you terribly."

The other woman gave Leandra a light hug and an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Leandra. I've been so busy here lately with the Qunari, or else I would've just had someone cover my patrol."

"Oh, dear. Has the situation improved at all?"

From beside Sulira, Anders leaned over and whispered, "Aveline's the city's Guard-Captain. She isn't known for liking mages."

Sulira nodded, eyeing the woman with a new sense of distaste.

"And who's this, Anders?"

The mage smirked. "Hawke's newest friend."

Aveline offered a grimace in return. "Apostate?" she guessed flatly.

Tired of being unable to speak for herself, Sulira took a step forward. "My name is Sulira. I'm the arch-mage of the College of Winterhold. I'm not here to cause trouble."

"Then I would advise staying away from Anders. He seems to revel in giving me and my men headaches." She turned as if to leave, then paused. "Talk to Hawke, please," she asked Anders. "He's run off to help Isabela, but the city needs him."

Anders raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Qunari." With that, she made her way back through the city.

Placing her hands on her hips, Sulira turned to Anders. "What's _Qunari_?" she demanded.

"A good distraction," Anders replied. "If Hawke goes to deal with them tomorrow, I'll come meet you here at the estate." He spoke directly to Sulira, but his eyes were focused on Aveline's shrinking form. "I've tried to remain discreet with the mage rebellion, but I think you may be right about being more direct."

"Good." Raising up a sparking hand in answer, Sulira gave a rare smile. "I would single-handedly kill every templar in this city, with or without a distraction."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I apologize for the super short update, but I just wanted to get _something_ out. It's been quite a while since I've updated, but I've been pretty busy with other projects and real life.

A note on lore: like I said, _please_ tell me if I screw up. I overlooked a few things in the last couple of chapters in relation to the magic, and when I have time I'm going to go back and fix it. This is my first crossover, so I don't always think about integrating certain parts of the different stories.

Also, don't worry about being rude of offending me. Seriously. I'm a writer; I'm used to having my work torn apart.

Last thing - since Sulira, Hawke and Co. will eventually be going back to Skyrim, would you like to have more parts from the POV of someone in Skyrim, such as Eros? Or would you rather that I just focus on Sulira's story?

Now you can read. ^.^ The next chapter will be much longer, and will involve the Qunari attack!

* * *

**The Hawke Estate**

_Well, at least he's quiet now._

Sulira shifted in the armchair, trying to soak up as much of the fire's warmth as possible. While it wasn't nearly as cold as she was used to, there was a chill in the morning air that had easily penetrated the thin house robes that Hawke's mother had given her the night before.

In fact, Leandra had been a wonderful hostess. Much more so than Hawke himself. Leandra had washed Sulira's arch-mage robes—which were, admittedly, filthy—and made sure she'd been warm in her small bedroom towards the back of the estate.

Hawke, by contrast, had skulked back into the estate early that morning, shortly after Sulira had awoken and taken her perch in front of the fire in the study. Hawke hadn't said a single word since he'd walked in, simply plopping in a chair opposite the high elf and folding his hands, staring intently into the fire for hours.

After a few hours of this, Sulira decided she was ready to see more of Kirkwall. If she were ever to make it to the Circle and the arch-mage, she'd need to do it quickly. Hoping to elicit _some_ sort of response, she cleared her throat loudly.

Hawke remained silent.

"I'm leaving," Sulira announced, certain she could remember the way back to Anders' clinic. _He_ would help her, she was sure. "Tell your mother that she keeps a lovely house. It was a pleasure." With that, the high elf strode out of the room, heading straight for the front door and the bustling marketplace of Hightown.

Getting from Hightown to Lowtown was easy enough. After that, though, Sulira was lost. Keeping her chin held high and her shoulders back, she marched regally through the crowded streets until she saw the familiar tavern from the night before. Confidently, she made her way down one of the blocky alleyways and emerged into an unfamiliar clearing, similar to the one she'd just left but filled with elves.

A giant tree stood in the middle, around which elves were calmly chatting and mingling. One of them, Sulira recognized from dinner the previous night. "Merrill?" she called quizzically, only partly certain that she had the correct name.

The young elf turned, her green eyes wide as she remembered Sulira. "Oh! I didn't realize I'd be having company," she apologized with a yawn. "I only got back a few hours ago, but I don't think the mice come into my house so early in the morning." She continued on, mumbling about when mice _did_ run across her floor, but Sulira was no longer listening.

"What is this place?"

"The Alienage," Merrill answered automatically.

Sulira craned her neck, straining to see each row of tiny, crowded apartments. "You live here?"

Merrill shrugged. "All the elves do. Except Fenris, but that's because he stole a mansion in Hightown." She looked down, kicking at the dirt with one foot. "It's not a very nice mansion, though."

"It must be better than this," Sulira growled, hardly able to believe the situation of the elves' living quarters. _Is there nothing in this place that's _right_? _

"Oh, the Alienage isn't so bad," Merrill countered lightly, leading Sulira over to what she assumed was the elf's house. "It was very lonely at first, but…" she trailed off, the smile dropping from her face. Shaking her head, Merrill pushed the door open and settled with, "Hawke's very nice. He's a good friend."

"If he were a good friend," Sulira snapped, "he'd be here, trying to fix this… this injustice, instead of sitting at his grand estate, moping over a fire." She refused to move from the doorway, not daring to step foot into the shack. It might have been quaint—adorable, even—but it was still a shack.

Merrill's eyes widened suddenly. "She didn't come back, then? But she _always_ comes back!" the elf insisted.

"Who?" Sulira asked. "Who didn't come back?"

"Isabela," Merrill said quietly, her head drooping. "She loves Hawke, you know. She won't admit it, but she does. And she doesn't mind about my blood magic. At least, she never mentions it."

"Blood magic?" Sulira inquired, not at all concerned with Merrill's other ramblings about Hawke's pirate lover. Anders had mentioned blood magic, calling it vile and a plethora of other names that Sulira didn't care to remember; she hadn't understood his concern. If there was a way to secure more power for yourself, then why not take advantage of the opportunity? If you were weak enough to succumb, then you were weak and didn't deserve the power in the first place.

But the elf didn't answer right away. Instead, she cocked her head curiously and looked warily at Sulira. "I don't care what the others have said," she insisted, her voice not as strong as the words she spoke.

Crossing her arms, Sulira glared down at Merrill with impatience. "They've said that blood magic is illegal and shouldn't be used. I happen to disagree."

"Well, then you can—" Merrill blinked, obviously confused at the arch-mage's words. "You… you disagree?"

Sulira gave a curt nod. "The power is yours for the taking."

"Oh." The elf looked down, almost sheepishly, and toyed with the edge of her tunic. "No one's ever said that. Everyone likes to lecture me, just like Marathari used to. Well, not _everyone_," she amended quickly. "Isabela doesn't, or Varric. And Hawke hasn't said anything in a while, but I think that's because Isabela asked him not to."

With a quiet groan, Sulira waved her hand to try and end Merrill's chattering. Now that she knew an elf with a similar aspiration to power, making a drastic change to the lives of the elves here in this strange land would be simple. Boringly so, she figured.

But first, she was determined to change the fortunes of mages, and that meant talking to Anders. "Merrill," she snapped, almost regretting being harsh on the girl but not sure how else to end her pointless rambling, "could you show me the way to Anders' clinic?"

"Maybe," she hesitated, before grabbing her staff and leading Sulira back into the Alienage.

Sulira was thoroughly unimpressed when they ended up in the loud tavern, but at least Hawke's dwarven friend knew the way to the clinic.

Not _everyone_ was helpless in this damn city, it seemed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Not as long as I intended, and not as much Qunari as I intended. From now on, I'm going to try and include at least one section per chapter from Eros, or possibly someone else left behind in Skyrim.

Althera is one of my original characters, but I don't have a particularly large role for her. I do have one other original character I'd like to introduce, but it might just have to wait until our party gets to Skyrim.

Also, starting with the next chapter, we're going to have _major_ shifts away from canon. I had originally planned to have the group leave at the end of the DA2 events, but I figured an original storyline is much more interesting!

* * *

**Breezehome**

There was a reason Eros didn't own a house of her own.

It was because of thieves like herself, who could pick a lock and sneak in before anyone noticed, steal thousands of septims worth of valuable objects, then leave before anyone was the wiser.

Eros always gave Sulira a break, though; the arch-mage never spent much time at home. Rather, she was always at the College, leaving Breezehome in the ever-watchful eyes of her housecarl, Lydia. A housecarl who, fortunately for Eros, wasn't currently at Breezehome.

The thief had made quick work of the lock, and now she was sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire, trying to decide exactly what she should do next. After a while, when she was sufficiently warm, Eros stood and made her way upstairs, deciding it wouldn't hurt to steal Sulira's bed for the night; in the morning, she'd try to find Lydia and see if she had any information on where Sulira might be.

As soon as Eros opened the door to the bedroom, she could sense something was wrong. She took a step back and drew her daggers. That's when she saw the assassin.

The assassin leapt, but Eros was faster. She ducked out of the way, the assassin's blade barely gliding over her head, and turned to give a swift kick to the now off-balance assassin, who stumbled forward, her arms flailing as she tried to catch herself. Eros sheathed one dagger and grabbed the assassin by the back of her armor, forcing her to the floor. Grinding her knee into the assassin's back, she seethed, "Tell me everything."

She didn't respond.

Snarling another threat, Eros lashed out and jerked the hood from the assassin, revealing her face. "Althera?" she growled, easily recognizing the bosmer assassin from the time they spent together in the Dark Brotherhood. "Who gave you the contract for the Dragonborn?"

"I don't know who the client is," she snapped. "I'm just doing what Astrid told me."

"Don't play stupid," Eros scoffed. "You and I both know damn well that if we want to find out who a client is, we can. Who is it?"

Althera struggled against Eros, but quickly stilled when the thief's blade pressed against her now-exposed neck. "I swear—I don't know."

Eros still didn't believe her, but she also didn't feel like pressing her old friend _too_ hard for information. "Alright, fine. You'll play stupid, and I'll play gullible, and we both go home disappointed." She slowly rose, offering Althera a hand. The other elf might have been an assassin, but she and Eros were as close to friends as thieves and murderers could get. "You wouldn't happen to know _why_ there's a contract for the Dragonborn?"

"I don't." Althera shrugged. "I could find out, if you really want to know," she offered amiably.

"Find out." Eros didn't really care about the fact that someone was after Sulira; after all, the mage could take care of herself. What bothered her, though, was that while Brynjolf was trying to convince the Dragonborn to act, Astrid was trying to get her killed. Eros knew Astrid, and she figured there was some sort of ulterior incentive to having the Dragonborn killed.

If she had to kill the entire Dark Brotherhood to find out why, then she'd kill them. She never liked Astrid, anyway.

* * *

**The Hawke Estate**

"Hawke, listen to me, please."

Silence.

"Hawke, _please_."

More silence.

"Hawke—"

"I don't _care_ about your damned manifesto, or the mages, or whatever it is! Leave me alone, Anders."

Sulira grimaced. Her plans to find Anders and use him to get to Kirkwall's arch-mage had fallen apart the moment she'd mentioned Hawke's helpless state. Anders had insisted they go back to the estate and check up on Hawke, though Sulira didn't see the point. It had taken nearly an hour, but Anders had _finally _gotten a response from him, and it was precisely the response Sulira would have given if someone were bothering her.

Of course, her yelling would've been accompanied by a little shock magic, just for good measure.

At Hawke's outburst, Leandra poked her head into the doorway. "Is everything alright?" She was dressed in a houserobe, and looked more than a little tired.

Seeing a convenient way out of "helping" with Anders' interrogation, Sulira rose and made her way to the door, offering what consolation she could to Leandra. "He's fine. Anders just wanted to check on him," she assured her, gently leading her out of the study and pulling the door shut behind them. "He had a late night."

"Not a typical night, though?" she asked, her brow creasing with worry. "Typically when he comes home so late, he's drunk and has that pirate with him." Leandra's voice hardened with obvious disapproval, but she sighed and admitted with soft concern, "When he came home alone, I was worried. I never know with him, and all those things he gets himself caught up in. Maker only knows how he does it."

Sulira forced herself not to roll her eyes. From what she'd seen, Hawke was a formidable enough warrior to take care of himself, and Leandra's concern was quite misplaced. If anything, she should be concerned that her son hadn't moved in hours after a woman had left him. Sulira's thoughts were interrupted by a gasp from Leandra.

"Oh, my," she sighed, "who left these here?" Leandra picked up an elegant bouquet of white lilies from the writing desk, then turned to direct her question to Bodahn. The dwarf, though, wasn't present; he and Sandal had been given the day off, much to Sulira's delight. The dwarves were funny little men who talked too much and tried far too hard to be polite.

"Maybe that pirate felt bad about leaving Hawke," Sulira remarked flippantly, wanting nothing more at that moment than to walk out and make her way to the Circle.

"Leaving?" Leandra gasped. "She… Isabela left him?" The woman wavered a bit, then set the flowers down and buried her face in her hands. "I told that boy she was no good, but I didn't think that…"

Her words were cut off by Hawke storming out of the study, followed closely by a similarly irate Anders. "And just where do you think you'll start?" the mage growled.

"Just think about it, Anders," Hawke shot back, grabbing his sword. "She's a _pirate_. Just get Varric and Aveline and meet me at the Docks."

"Hawke—" Anders' voice was cut off as he followed Hawke outside and the door slammed behind them.

Sulira rolled her eyes and headed back to her room for the time being, offering Leandra only a curt "Excuse me." But, as soon as the arch-mage had turned around, the door slammed back open.

"Leandra."

Sulira nearly ignored the halfway familiar voice and continued to the bedroom, but her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to see the red-haired woman from the night before, followed by Anders. "Leandra," the woman repeated, "if Hawke comes back, make sure he meets me at the Qunari compound right away. We're going to need his help."

Leandra turned a ghostly pale, her hands slowly reaching up to cover her mouth. "It's going to happen, isn't it? Some of the ladies were talking at the party last week—they said the Qunari were going to attack. That's what's going on, isn't it, Aveline?"

"I'm not sure," Aveline admitted. "I'm going to do everything in my power to keep an attack from happening, but I'll need Hawke's help."

"At the very least," Anders piped up, his voice strained, "we could get Fenris. He has a way with the Qunari."

The red-headed warrior nodded fervently. "You're absolutely right, Anders. I'll check the mansion. You stay here with Leandra."

The healer sighed with relief. "Of course."

Sulira raised an eyebrow, clearing her throat. "I don't wish to intervene in your… plans, but surely you don't intend to leave _me_ here?" She gestured to herself with pursed lips, hoping to make her point even clearer. Whether it was Hawke running off to find Isabela, or Aveline dealing with the Qunari, Sulira was the _arch-mage_. They needed her.

But Aveline hesitated. "Perhaps you should stay here with Anders."

"And which of us is it that you don't trust?" Anders shot at her, crossing his arms.

"Will you drop the accusations, Anders? The city is facing its biggest threat in years. Give it a rest."

"I'll stay," Sulira interjected before Anders could find some other insult to toss at Aveline. It wasn't so much that she _cared_, but more that she knew Anders would be more than willing to let her leave and speak with the arch-mage of the Circle.

"Good." With one last nod—and a heated glance back at Anders—Aveline turned and left the estate. Leandra almost immediately sank into the chair at the writing desk, giving a dejected sigh. Anders excused himself and headed for the kitchen. Not sure what else to do until he returned, Sulira moved closer to the warmth of the fireplace.

"You don't talk about yourself much," Leandra noted quietly. "You told us a bit about your home, the other night at dinner, but that's it."

Sulira remained purposefully quiet, determined to act ignorant of the fact that Leandra was digging for her life story.

"I understand if it's because you're a mage. I just want you to know that we'll protect you from the templars."

"I don't need protecting," Sulira spat, her face creasing into the beginning of a frown. "I have the power to march single-handedly against the templars and kill them all. I have _nothing_ to fear."

Leandra sighed and muttered something about Hawke getting himself into more trouble. A loud crash cut off her complaints prematurely.

Acting on instinct, Sulira dashed into the front room, where the noise had come from. She was met by the man from the streets the night before, the one who had run away when Anders had attempted to help. He held up his staff threateningly, his eyes wide with conviction.

Grinning, Sulira loosened her shoulders and held up her hands in answer, letting sparks fly from her fingertips. She loosed the magic, and it hit the man squarely in the chest. He flew backwards, crashing into the wall, but in his place now stood a writhing creature of flame.

By now, Anders had joined Sulira in the front room. "Demons," he gasped, drawing his own staff. "You're a blood mage," he spat.

Sulira didn't care _what_ this man was; he was relieving her of some of her boredom. With another grin, she shot another blast of magic at him, quickly turning to the demon and blasting it with a shot of ice. Anders followed with a blast of fire, and with one final barrage of frost, the demon fell. Sulira lazily flicked a bit of shock magic at the intruder, ignoring Anders' protest.

"We needed answers!"

Again, Sulira ignored him. "Go take care of Hawke's mother. The woman is probably scared half to death." With a little frown that said _Don't argue_, Sulira slipped out of the room towards her bedroom.

But Anders followed anyway. "This isn't about _you_. That's how you see it, isn't it?" the mage accused, intercepting Sulira at the door to her room. "You're just like Merrill. No regard for the rest of the mages in Thedas, or even in Kirkwall! You have an obligation—a… a duty!—to the mages, and yet you choose to ignore it. You turn your back on them."

Sulira let out a dark chuckle. "You don't know _what_ I've done for the mages," she muttered under her breath, a twisted smile creeping along the edge of her lips. "The College flourishes under my hand. What have _you_ done, Anders? What have _you_ done," she challenged, "besides cower in the shadows?"

He began to protest, but his words were cut off by the sound of a door being ripped from its hinges.

* * *

**The Hanged Man**

"I made a mistake."

Varric shook his head, not sure whether he was more surprised at Isabela's words or the sincere tone that accompanied them. "Look, Rivaini, I don't think the middle of a Qunari attack is the best time to discover your conscience. So, if you aren't going to help me bar this door shut…"

"But that's the problem, Varric!" Isabela sighed, pacing around the suite. "This is all my fault."

"Rivaini," Varric breathed, struggling to drag another of the low chairs to the door, "Hawke's the one you screwed over. Either talk to him, or help with the door." The dwarf shoved the chair firmly against the door, ignoring Bianca's pleas to join the fight against the Qunari. Varric liked taking risks, but he also liked cheating so those risks worked in his favor; this wasn't a scenario that he could fix.

Really, Varric wasn't much of a risk-taker at all.

He leaned against the door to catch his breath, rolling his eyes at Isabela's continued moral crisis. Suddenly, she stopped mid-step, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "That… that sounded like that crazy mage bitch Hawke brought back."

Varric groaned. He'd _much_ rather fight the Qunari.


End file.
